


Blanket Forts and Morning Things

by artfulinanities



Series: Just Some Tumblr Things... [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Husbands, Inappropriate use of clean sheets, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 19:48:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6720058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artfulinanities/pseuds/artfulinanities
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Why did you leave?” John shivers at the sound of Sherlock’s baritone all roughened by sleep, his diction loose and easy, vowels rounded and consonants soft.</p>
<p>“We both reeked of pond water and I needed a shower,” John replies, snagging a pair of pyjama trousers from a drawer and slipping them on. “Up you get, love. I need to clean the sheets.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blanket Forts and Morning Things

**Author's Note:**

> Just another smut Sunday thing...:)

John rolls onto his side, cursing at the soft grey light filtering in through the window. His body aches, the heavy toll of age and the abuse of a case lingering in his joints. Groggy and parched, he extricates himself from the abundance of long pale limbs clinging to him, tangling with his own extremities until he has a hard time telling where his own body ends and Sherlock’s begins.

The pipes creak and groan as he adjusts the taps, the ancient plumbing highly disgruntled by his early morning demands. John feels a pang of empathy, but the rush if warm water over his grimy skin brings too much relief, and his remorse is short-lived. He tips his head back, letting the water run in rivulets over his skin, his mind catching up to his body’s waking state.

Outside, a car horn blares and John recalls their last case. It was a whirlwind of deductions and foot chases and an impromptu dip in a pond on the client’s private property. By the end of it, John and Sherlock had simply peeled off their wet things and fallen into bed, five days worth of minimal sleep, watery coffee, and café sandwiches having taken their toll. Today will be nothing but catching up on their rest and straightening the flat.

Rinsing the last of the soap from his skin, John cuts off the flow of water, giving himself a quick dry before plodding back into their bedroom. Sherlock has curled himself around John’s pillow, blinking blearily at his husband from their bed.

“Why did you leave?” John shivers at the sound of Sherlock’s baritone all roughened by sleep, his diction loose and easy, vowels rounded and consonants soft.

“We both reeked of pond water and I needed a shower,” John replies, snagging a pair of pyjama trousers from a drawer and slipping them on. “Up you get, love. I need to clean the sheets.”

Sherlock grumbles, stumbling out of bed and into the loo, his lush arse on full display. John licks his lips, putting the idea away for later. The sheets are creased and smell vaguely of fish - unsurprising considering the pampered goldfish the client had kept in their poorly marked pond - so John strips them quickly, toddles downstairs, and shoves them into the machine they share with Mrs. Hudson, adding a healthy amount of detergent in the hopes of eradicating the stench. Satisfied, he gives a stretch and shuffles back up the 17 steps into the kitchen to make tea. The water in the loo cuts off just as the kettle finishes boiling, the faint noises of Sherlock’s final morning ablutions drifting down the hall.

Paper open, tea in hand, and toast nearby, John pays little mind to his husband, knowing that Sherlock’s post case crashes are best left alone. He checks in on him before transferring the sheets to the dryer, smirking at the sight of Sherlock facedown on the mattress, towel slung low around his hips. John busies himself gathering up the detritus from their case, making a final trip down the stairs to collect the freshly laundered sheets. They smell much better, more like “home” than “pond”, and John carries the load back up to remake their bed.

“Sherlock, you need to move, love. I have to make the bed.” His husband grunts in response, giving no signs of having any plans to change his position. Sighing fondly, John dumps the warm sheets onto Sherlock’s back, laughing at the startled squeak they elicit.

“What the _hell_ , Jo- oh.” Sherlock practically melts into the mattress. “Oh, that’s lovely.”

“Thought you might like that, you great cat. Now up, I need to make the bed.”

Sherlock rolls over, turning his pouting face in John’s direction. “I’ve just finished a case, John. Aren’t you the one always nagging after me to sleep in order to recover?”

“Not at the expense of having clean sheets.” Sherlock gives a frown, one long arm snaking out from among the sheets and pulling John forward with enough force to topple him onto the nest of bedclothes and Sherlock. He lets out a grunt upon landing, soon finding himself cocooned under the sheets with his husband.

“Much nicer this way, I think,” Sherlock murmurs, pressing a kiss to John’s mouth, licking his way inside, body warm, pliant, and naked against John’s own. John shivers at the rasp of Sherlock’s stubble against his skin, returning the favour by running his jaw along the long column of Sherlock’s neck, making the detective keen.

“You’re a bad man, Mr. Holmes,” John chuckles, returning the kiss with equal fervour, hands wandering over Sherlock’s skin. The touches turn needy, the panting wanton, moans and groans interspersed with breathless whispers of “please,” “more,” and “ _John_.” John rolls Sherlock onto his back, their bodies still covered by the sheets, kissing down his chest from collar bones to navel, blowing raspberries into the creamy skin and nipping softly at his sharp hipbones. Sherlock let’s out soft giggles and tiny whines that have John positively aching. It always warms his heart to see Sherlock be so trusting, to watch him let go so completely, and it’s also _incredibly_ sexy.

“John,” Sherlock pleads, back arching as John takes him into his mouth, tongue teasing along the underside of his shaft. He sucks and bobs up and down, one hand fondling Sherlock’s bollocks, the other stroking along the soft skin of his inner thigh. Sherlock gives his hair a light tug, hips stuttering as he gets closer to the edge, skin flushed a mottled pink from his cheeks down to his belly. John keeps working him, swallowing his release and holding him gently in his mouth as he comes down, softening against John’s tongue. When Sherlock gives a whimper from oversensitivity, John pulls off, shucking his pyjama trousers and slotting himself against Sherlock’s lean thigh.

“That’s it,” Sherlock rumbles, hand snaking down to give John’s arse a squeeze. “You always make me feel so good. Need you to feel good, too.” He presses sloppy kisses to John’s temple, holding his husband close, breath hot against the shell of John’s ear. “Come for me, John.”

John stifles a grunt in the crook of Sherlock’s neck, his release splattering over Sherlock’s leg and onto the sheets. They stay there, just holding each other as their breathing slows. It’s quiet and perfect and comforting, all wrapped up in their little cocoon away from the rest of the world.

“Mm, good morning, husband,” Sherlock rumbles, pressing another kiss to John’s temple.

“Morning,” John replies, tipping his chin to bring their mouths together. “That was a nice way to really start our day off.”

“I agree. Although, there was one downfall,” Sherlock counters, rolling them onto their sides, arm slung over John’s hip.

“And what would that be, love?” John presses a kiss to the tip of Sherlock’s nose, loving the way it makes Sherlock’s eyes crinkle at the corners.

“We’ll need to wash the sheets again.”

**Author's Note:**

> Drop by and say hello on [my Tumblr](http://artfulinanities.tumblr.com/)


End file.
